


Searching for Shards of Mind

by skeletrash



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes needs many hugs, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 09:23:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1813378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeletrash/pseuds/skeletrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve will do anything to get his Bucky back. Not Hydra's Winter Soldier, or the broken person they left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If nothing else, I'll be your shadow.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fic, so please be kind! I'm not totally sure where I'm going to go with this after maybe the first four chapters, (will the rest of the Avengers make an appearance? Will Natasha and Bucky get it on? Will Steve die? Who fucking knows. Steve probably won't die) but there will be mentions of PTSD and anxiety. Criticism and compliments of any kind are greatly appriciated, but please be gentle on my overall dodgy writing style.

Since S.H.I.E.L.D had been disbanded (or wrongfully burnt to the ground, depending on who you talk to), Natasha and Steve had grown a lot closer. Not that they weren't already close, but when you're lied to, ignored, and deserted by everyone you know and trust, only left with each other, it forms a special sort of bond that makes it difficult to trust anyone else. Steve had tried to contact almost all of the Avengers. Apparently everyone was on vacation. Natasha was furious that Clint had dissapeared off the map, even before Hydra resurfaced. He couldn't have known, she tried to remind herself, but she was still left with the feeling that she'd be abandoned by the person she trusted the most. That person was Steve now, not that she's ever tell Clint about any of that. Not that either of them would even mention to each other how alone they'd felt at that time.

They carried on with missions like they always did. If someone noticed giant mutant fish floating about NYC, then they'd call each other up and get right to it. Just like the good old days. Except it wasn't. Fury wasn't there to debrief them (he was still recovering from his 'death'), Clint still wasn't back from wherever he was, and there was a strange man with long hair and scared eyes shaded by a baseball cap amongst other onlookers at the end of every mission- following Steve wherever he went. When Natasha first noticed, she knew she was going to have to be very careful. She knew he wasn't an immediate danger to Steve, but he might be if Steve tried to noticed him. Little after a month of spotting Bucky, she sat Steve down and told him.

"Look, before I say what I need to say, I need to set down some ground rules." she said sternly, "You can't put yourself, or anyone else in danger by knowing this, so basically, you have to do exactly as I say." Her gaze was intense, trying to convey the importance of the conversation. But Steve's gaze sat on a spot in the far distance out the window of the coffee shop.

"Look, you _need_ to listen to me"

"Yeah, yeah I am. What is it?"

"Steve, I saw Bucky." his eyes immediately meet with Natasha's, "He's been following you." his face was filled with confusion, and a gleam of hope begining to form.

"Now remember what I said, Steve. We don't know what his intentions are. He could be friendly-"

"Is he here now? When did you notice-"

" _Or_ he could've been reprogrammed by Hydra and is stalking you to find the best place to decapitate you" she hissed at him.

The look of hope quickly turned to worry. "Look Steve, don't get me wrong. I believe you when you say he was the one to pull you onto that riverbank, but the fact still stands that he was the reason you needed to be pulled out of the damn river in the first place. He obviously had enough consciousness to save you, but we don't know how strong his memories of his old self are. It could be extremely dangerous to let him know we are aware of his presence."

"So what do you want me to do excactly, ignore the existence of my best friend?" Steve's voice began to rise and for a second, he could've sworn he saw Natasha's face fall.

"Yes, that's exactly what I want you to do. He is a beaten dog and if we scare him, he will bite. Or punch, kick, cut or shoot- in his case. You cannot approach him, do you heard me? In his own time, he'll either attack you or come to talk."

Steve frowned and thought for a long time, and said "Okay. If that's what it takes to get my Bucky back, I'll wait."


	2. 'Til the end of the line.

Now he knew what was happening, Steve decided he was going to help Bucky as much as he could. If Natasha was right, that his old memories might not be enough for him to overcome what Hydra had done, then he was going to make damn sure he remembered a few more things.

Every day for a week, he went on a tour of their childhood. It was more difficult than he originally thought. Not only had the people changed, but the majority of the landscape had, too. He found their old middle school, Bucky's first appartment (though it was now deserted), he even took a trip out to Coney Island. They'd gone there once or twice as kids, never able to afford to go on more than one ride, but wandering around the beach was good enough for them. The last two places he visited were the alley where Bucky first told him he'd been assigned to the 107th, and then Flushing Meadows where he himself finally got to join up. He decided to go to these two places last as they were the most isolated. He didn't want the Winter Soldier charging at him infront of a school full of kids. Without nipping over to Europe, these were the last good memories they had together. These would be the places he could approach him as Bucky. 

After a while he realised that he'd needed to do this for a really long time. He'd mostly tried to avoid places from his old life, for fear of seeing how much they had decayed, or just dissapeared. Seeing all these places also reminded him of Bucky, not just the other way around. Did Natasha even appriciate how difficult this was? He'd already lost his best friend twice. How could she expect him to just carry on as normal knowing that all he needed to do was yell out his name? Then he could see him again, hug him, and if his little old times tour had worked, maybe even see the glint in his eye again that made him Bucky, instead of the furious, souless, confused face that had tried to kill him. By eight o'clock it was starting to rain, and it was a long journey back to his apparnement. He abandoned the park and walked to the bus.

His appartment was cold and empty, as usual. After all of his belongings had been blown to shit (and he wasn't exactly getting a steady salary from SHIELD in the first place) he only had the basics. Two rooms: a bathroom, and a kitchen/bedroom. The only real furniture he had now was a double bed, a bookshelf and a table with four chairs. He was happier like this. The frankly extravagant appartment he'd been living in had far too many comforts for his liking. He felt out of place in the outside world, he didn't need some freaky radiation box made from army technology to heat his food, nor did he need a flatscreen tv or an ipod. He wouldn't admit it to himself, but he'd created an area of isolation since SHIELD has ended. Hydra, Bucky, and his whole past had returned and bit him on the ass- all he wanted was to feel like he was home.

He turned on the radio and set about making some coffee. If there was one handy thing about chemicals not effecting him, it was that never again did he have to buy decaf. There weren't many radio stations that played his kind of music anymore; there was one but it was full of static. He slouched into a chair as 'My Buddy' by Frank Sinatra started playing. _Just_ what he needed. His heart started to pull in his chest as he listened to the song- it was downright painful knowing he was facing the trials of 21st century life alone in his grotty little apparment, when he could be facing them shoulder to shoulder with his best friend. That's how he'd lived out his life so far: both of his parents dying, getting beat up everyday, getting shot by nazis everyday, he did all with Bucky by his side. That's what Bucky promised. He still wasn't sure if that broken promise gave him the right to be angry.

Just as he was about to get changed and go to bed, the doorbell rang. He had half a mind to ignore it and crawl under the covers, but he answered anyway. Opening the door, he was greeted with the dishevled, dirty, tearful form of his winter soldier.

"Til the end of the line?" he asked, pain and worry streaked across his face.

"Always, Buck. Always." Steve pulled him into a tight hug and closed the door behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My god this is so slow. I wanted to put some thought and detail into what Steve's state of mind/life is post-Winter Soldier, it wasn't meant to turn into some weird third person monologue thingy but that's what it is. Bare with me, I'll actually get to something resembling a storyline in the next chapter I promise.


	3. I'll be your picket fence.

He didn't want to let go, ever. This was making up for seventy years of lost contact with anyone at all, and all Bucky wanted was to be close to him. His memories of Steve were still distant, but so strong he couldn't think of anything else. The overwhelming guilt of what he had done created a lump in his throat and a tremble throughout his body that stopped his ability to move or speak. He clung to Steve like he'd clung to his gun for as long as he could remember.

"Hey, come on. Come over here." Steve coaxed him towards the other side of the flat. He pulled out some clothes from under his bed and rushed to the bathroom to get him a towel. When he returned, Bucky hadn't moved an inch.

"Come on, you can't stay in those clothes" Steve said soothingly. Bucky stared blankly at the wall, and abruptly broke into tears. He choked on his sobs as Steve carefully wrapped a towel around his shoulders and softly patted his hair dry.

"I'm s-so sorry" Bucky hiccuped,

"Don't, Bucky. It's okay. It's not you're fault. It's okay, shh it's alright" Steve went into the full blown matron mode he'd seen Bucky adopt so many times. Whenever he so much as sniffled, Bucky would appear, cough syrup and vapour rub in hand, sterner than Colonel Phillips.

Starting to tug at his saturated hoodie, Steve commanded in his most school-maamish voice "Now you really need to get out of these clothes". He was concerned to find that underneath the casual diguise he had aquired, Bucky was still wearing his Winter Soldier uniform. Steve peeled away the leather, discretely observing the scars across his back and left shoulder. He gingerly dressed him in a SHIELD training tshirt and pyjama pants and gave him a quick squeeze around the shoulders before guiding him towards the bed.

"I don't know where you've been staying, but you're pitching here now." Bucky took a breath to reply, but Steve cut him off- "No excuses."

He lay stiffly above the covers, "Like a marshmallow, huh?" Steve said pittifully. This drew the first smile out of Bucky he'd seen in five living years, even if he still looked uneasy.

"C'mere" Steve muffled into Bucky's shoulder, already trying to pull a blanket around them. They'd shared a bed (or bed shaped pile of cushions, or floor) for many years. Bucky would wander in, crashing into the pillows, and Steve, at all hours after a date. He would sprawl out ontop of Steve, oblivious to the fact that _duh, athsma and compacted lungs do not mix_ and would drunkenly nuzzle into his neck as he told him about the beautiful dame he got to dance with. Their relationship didn't determine this as an especially intimate gesture, it was just what they did. But there were some nights, like the night after Sarah's funeral, or the first night Bucky was rescued from the Hydra research facility. Nights where the two boys just needed to know they weren't alone in the world. Nights where they would sleep a little closer, breathe a little heavier, their limbs would touch a little more often and neither would move them. On the worst of nights they would cling to each other like life rafts. This was one of those nights. Steve wrapped his arms protectively around Bucky's waist. Bucky lay with his head against Steve's chest, clutching the fabric over his hips.

"I missed you" Steve whispered. Bucky exhaled into Steve's shirt, and squeezed him a little tighter. Neither of them slept that night, or talked. _I missed you._ That was all they needed to say.


End file.
